


How a Circle Closes

by venhediss



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, OG Nightwings, Supergiant Secret Santa, capriem, it's a very pyre christm--...winter solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-18 01:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venhediss/pseuds/venhediss
Summary: Cold winds howl down from the north as the longest night of the year approaches. It has been some years since Volfred joined the Nightwings; the Plan progresses, awaiting now only the opportunity for its implementation. In the meantime, it has been suggested that perhaps the Nightwings should take advantage of Capriem, the holiday of the winter solstice and the Moon Stag Hunter, to eat, drink, and be merry in one another's company. After all, the stars have been shining oddly of late; there is no telling how much longer that company may last.





	How a Circle Closes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Supergiant Secret Santa event.

_Cigarettes in hands, tea on the table,_   
_That's how a circle closes._   
_And suddenly, we are too terrified to change anything._   
_(Кино - «Перемен»)_   
_***_   
_For Savi._

* * *

 

The Downside had a way of keeping the Nightwings on the move, even when the stars did not demand that they travel for the Rites. The early setting sun of the winter solstice found their blackwagon parked along the tenuous path stretching from the volcanic cliffs of Black Basin into the depths of Wakingwood. They had plans for that evening - a small holiday celebration of sorts - and had parted ways to go about their separate duties.

Erisa, for her part, was nursing a nasty cold of some sort, and had been charged with following Oralech’s advice, and accepting his remedies. She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat that quickly turned into a fit of coughing, almost causing her to spill the rest of the medicinal tea she had been given. "What's _in_ this?"

"Nothing dangerous," Oralech answered dryly. He had thrown together a stew from what vegetables and game they had been able to find or catch. There was no telling how it would come together; for now, it simmered innocently enough in its large pot, thickening steadily as it was stirred.

"Whatever it is, you should consider making a weapon out of it." Erisa wrinkled her nose and inhaled sharply once or twice, before spitting into the wispy, dried grass. "Spread it on the Blackwagon, that'll give those howlers something to really howl about."

She continued her grousing for some time, but Oralech didn't bother responding. If her frequent sniffling was any indication, the secret ingredient in that tea was doing its job. It was a pity the flavor was too strong to be masked completely, but she would thank him when she was finally able to get a decent night's sleep. Speaking of which...

"You may stay up late with us if you'd like, Erisa, but I would strongly suggest that you not attempt to remain awake all night." He took a tentative sip of the stew. It could hardly be called appetizing; there was only so much one could do with Downside cuisine, but it would likely suffice for the occasion. It just needed to be cooked down for a bit longer. "Unless of course you wish to continue being miserable."

"When are any of us _not_ miserable down here," she grumbled, taking another begrudging sip of tea. "It's fine. I didn't really want to celebrate anyways."

At those words, Oralech glanced back at her; her gaze was steely, fixed on some distant point that likely only she could see. He didn't push it. "Dinner will be ready soon. You can see how you feel after you have eaten."

"Sure thing, doc."

She fell silent after that, nestling further into the heavy shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and Oralech felt compelled briefly to do the same with his own thickly bundled cloak, despite the heat of the cooking fire. The angry and broken lands of Black Basin provided some warmth even from several leagues away, but it was not enough to fully dispel the chill of late Twelfthmoon, which brought numbing breezes at its mildest, and ferocious blizzards at its most cruel. The last fingers of leaves clung, limp and brown, to the trees of Wakingwood, which rose abruptly out of the dark volcanic soil some distance away.

It was from this line of trees that Volfred emerged just as the muddled gray-gold of late twilight was settling over their camp. His particular errand shouldn't have taken as long as it did, as he had simply been gathering green boughs. But, as he drew closer, Oralech could see that Ti'zo already had a crown of expertly woven branches settled on his furry brow, and looked quite pleased with that fact besides.

The little imp let out a happy screech, spreading his wings wide in excitement and digging his claws into his perch to stay balanced. Volfred didn't react outside a slight wince at the pain in his shoulder, although he did look more than a little relieved when Ti'zo took off, fluttering towards the campfire and the scent of food.

"Welcome back, Volfred," Oralech greeted him, with a smile that softened the usually hard lines of his face. Behind him, Erisa scoffed.

"Hope you brought enough branches for me, too," she said by way of greeting, sliding down to her feet from the edge of the Blackwagon. Ti'zo was looking pleadingly at the cooking pot, so she knelt beside him and offered him her teacup instead. He took a cautious sniff, before turning away, completely uninterested.

"I did, but you'll need to help weave them." Perhaps trying to spare Ti'zo, Volfred held a few thin, flexible boughs down into Erisa's line of sight. She accepted them with a sigh that turned into a stifled cough. "I can show you how. Or have you made a Capriem crown before?"

"Of course I have!" she shot back. Her fingernails picked at the bark.

"If you do not wish to make one, you need not do so," Oralech suggested mildly, as he offered a thick vegetable peel to an overjoyed Ti'zo.

Erisa straightened up, tea in one hand and branches in the other. She sniffled hugely, and spat into the grass again. "Nah. Let's do this. I'll see how much I remember. We can even make one for the minstrel too, thank him in advance for his stories." She waved her cup in his direction and although his eyes remained closed, they could all feel how his attention snapped back to them from some distant place or time. He gave a nod of acknowledgement, neither protesting nor encouraging, but it was all Erisa needed.

"That's settled then! Show me what you've got, Woody." She downed the rest of her tea, coughed once or twice in disgust, and pressed the cup back into Oralech's hands before following Volfred to the other side of the campfire. Her competitive spirit had been roused, and she worked quickly, cutting and twisting the branches together. But Volfred was clearly skilled, and she shot furtive glances his way every once in a while as she tried to weave more complicated patterns into her own work.

Twilight faded into an early and incomplete darkness, the stars' light dampened in the east by the orange glow from Black Basin. The longest night of the year had begun. The wagon's drive-imps had already had their feast, tearing into the evening's cooking scraps with a chorus of gleeful chittering before settling into the profound slumber that naturally follows a large meal. As hungry as he was, Ti'zo had valiantly abstained from joining his fellow imps. He was, after all, curious about the traditions of this particular holiday, and given how fixed his attention was upon the cooking pot, he was especially curious about the traditional cuisine. Having been shooed away from the food more than once, he had finally settled next to Tariq. The minstrel plucked idly at his lute, sometimes in a more experimental manner, and at others in a way that suggested he was simply warming up for the night's entertainment, to which he had promised to contribute. Ti'zo made occasional chirping suggestions, which Tariq seemed to take very seriously. Meanwhile, Volfred and Erisa worked steadily at their crown weaving, and dinner simmered further down the path to edibility. By the time the meat had softened enough that chewing it would not cause one's jaw to ache, it was nearing an hour that could be properly considered night. The stew had taken far longer than expected, and Oralech had to concede that cooking it longer would likely do little to improve the taste or consistency any further.

"Dinner is ready," he called over his shoulder, before spooning stew into four tin bowls (Tariq had, as usual, declined all offers of food). As he got to his feet, he felt a presence behind him and turned to see Volfred, a simple Capriem crown tied around his head. In his hands he held another, far more complicated crown, waiting to be gifted to its intended wearer. "Let us trade, then," Oralech said, a corner of his mouth quirking up as he held a bowl of soup out, and waited.

The crown was settled about his temples. It was, unsurprisingly, a bit too large, but his shaggy hair helped hold it in place well enough. "You modeled this on Erisa’s head, I see." His smile didn't stretch any wider, but good humor lurked in the corners of his eyes.

"She was happy to volunteer."

"I will believe it when I see it." He gestured with the bowl again. "Come, I believe we were to trade."

One of Volfred's hands did indeed accept the offered bowl, but the other lingered. It drifted down from the crown of branches to rest, just for a moment, against Oralech's cheek. The bark of his palm was warm, and smoother than one might expect. Before Oralech could react, the hand had pulled away entirely. It was quick but, apparently, not quick enough to go unnoticed.

From just behind Volfred, Erisa cleared her throat exaggeratedly, and then once more for good measure. He shifted to the side to let her pass and her expression morphed from irritation to mock surprise. "Oh, for me?" She reached past Oralech to snatch a bowl from where he had set them and shot him a wry smirk. "Considerate as always. I'm sure you won't mind if I go ahead and dig in." She was by then already walking away, spoon filled and halfway to her mouth; she didn't glance back, but plopped down cross-legged as close to the campfire as she could sit without catching her clothes on fire.

She was serving herself seconds by the time everyone else had settled in. She jerked a thumb at Tariq, who had planted himself on a small stool nearby and was fiddling with the strings of his lute. "What do you think? Pretty good, huh?" The minstrel's hat had at some point been replaced by a crown of branches complete with a pair of small, crudely whittled antlers. Although his expression didn't change, his presence seemed lighter than usual. It was the closest he usually came to happiness.

Oralech shrugged. "Tariq appears to like it."

"I believe that's rather high praise," Volfred added.

"Damn right it is." Erisa settled in her seat again, her expression akin to that of a journeyman showing off one of their finer works.

Ti'zo squawked anxiously, eyes darting back and forth between his untouched bowl and everyone else, clearly wondering if it was ok to follow Erisa's lead and start eating. Volfred gave a rumbling laugh. "Of course, help yourself, Ti'zo." The imp needed no more encouragement, and had already pitched himself face-first into his food by the time Volfred raised his bowl in a toast. "To the Nightwings," he began. "And to the coming year. May we all remain safe, and may the cycle of the Rites soon see fit to begin again."

"Hear, hear," Erisa cut in, raising her bowl as well. "To getting the fuck out of this shithole."

"To peace in the Commonwealth, and in all of the lands caught up in its whims." Oralech's voice was subdued, but his gaze was intense as he joined the toast.

Ti'zo lifted his head from his food long enough to screech his agreement with all of the above, before diving back in, signalling to everyone that it was as good a time to dig in as any. An amiable quiet fell, softened by the clanking of spoons against bowls and a murmured compliment or two to the chef. The first round (Erisa's second) was finished quickly, and it was enough, although the pot stood waiting to offer more food as the night dragged on.

Gathering himself, Oralech sat up a bit straighter. "Perhaps now would be a good time to begin the tale of Capriast and the longest night. If Tariq is willing, of course."

"I am," the minstrel answered smoothly. His fingers coaxed a tense chord from his lute and the atmosphere changed in an instant. His solemn tone was a perfect fit for the ancient tale, the story from which all of Capriem's traditions were drawn. He spoke it as if he had been there, adding details and embellishments: the glimmer of the Empress' tears as the vengeful Moon Stag cast the land into darkness; the broken spirits of the eleven who tried and failed to capture it; the doggedness of Capriast's tireless pursuit; and at last, the deep, viscous crimson of fresh blood on the snow, a crimson that spilled even unto the sky, heralding the end of the spell and the return of the dawn. All the while, Tariq's fingers danced a delicate tune, sometimes slowing like the sluggish crawl of endless night, sometimes hurrying like the hunted stag's hooves skimming across the snow.

The last notes hung crystalline in the air, and silence descended. Tariq's rapt listeners felt distinctly as if they were returning from a far distant time and place. The mood had turned surprisingly heavy; even Erisa looked a bit vacant.

But just as Oralech began to wonder if her tiredness had caught up with her, she gave her head a sharp shake, and let out a bark of laughter. "Shit! Never heard it quite like that before."

"I'm inclined to agree," Volfred added, leaning forward and bringing his hands together as if he had only just remembered how to move them. "In fact, I believe a few sections may be entirely unique. I'd enjoy asking you more about it, Tariq." And, at the weary look he received from Erisa, "But later, of course." Tariq acknowledged the request with a gracious nod.

"Yeah, it was nice and all, but now that the boring, traditional stuff is out of the way..." Erisa stretched her arms up above her, cracking a knuckle or two for effect. "Let's get to the fun stories, shall we?" The grin she wore was more than enough indication of precisely what her definition of "fun stories" would be.

At her words, Ti'zo let out a surprisingly lively growl, his tiny features set in a fierce sneer somewhat undermined by the bits of stew still clinging to his fur here and there. Erisa squinted at him, not fully understanding. "What's he want?"

"It seems he wants a bit of competition," Volfred explained, more than a little curious himself. He continued as Ti'zo rattled off a series of chirps and squawks. "The other imps aren't very interested in stories most of the time. He's heard that our winter solstice is a storytelling holiday, and claims he knows a few tales that will make yours look dull by comparison."

"Oh really." She leaned back, arms crossed over her chest. "Let's hear it then, imp. This'd better blow me away."

Ti'zo gave an affirmative screech, fluttering up to perch on the edge of his now-empty bowl. He glanced at Tariq, who seemed to understand some sort of unspoken command and began picking out a driving, almost anxious melody. He then cleared his throat with a squeak, and launched into his tale. It quickly became clear this was a (likely embellished) recounting of a group hunt, an infrequent but thrilling and gory pastime of howlers and feral imps. Taking down an animal still in the prime of its life was always a significant danger for such small beings, ferocious as they were, and thus was saved for truly desperate times.

In the original imp, Ti'zo's telling was quite expressive, even eloquent; Oralech quickly gave up trying to parse anything beyond the general intent, leaving the job of interpreting up to Volfred. Thankfully most of the more colorful turns of phrase hardly needed translation, as the imp fluttered about, slashing his tiny claws through the air and gesturing sharply with his wings. Despite his small stature, his presentation was effective, and one could swear his fangs looked sharper than before, and his fur more ragged as he puffed himself up to almost twice his size. He recounted one struggle after another, as well as the ways in which the swarm of howlers overcame them, just barely, until at last they were upon their quarry, sinking claws and teeth into its flesh. Here, the accompanying music cut off, and he paused to look around the circle, eyes glinting wickedly in the firelight. It was clear enough what his silence meant: "And you're next." The silence stretched out for a long moment.

Then, with an abrupt and cheery chirp, Ti'zo ended his tale. Volfred cleared his throat, taken a bit aback by the sudden change in mood. "He says he's been wanting to tell a...perhaps I should call it a monster story?" Ti'zo squawked his agreement with that interpretation. "For some time. You certainly play the part well," Volfred added with a chuckle.

Erisa rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, as if chasing away the sensation of being watched. She did her best to settle a proud smirk over her uneasy expression. "That the best you've got? Shit, you didn't even change it up! Two hunt stories in a row...let me show you how it's really done." She got to her feet, shaking off both her shawl and the last of her unease. Ti'zo chittered in mock anticipation, and she rolled up her sleeves. "You'll all be pissing yourselves laughing by the time I'm done."

She didn't disappoint; where precisely she had honed her skill for bawdy storytelling was unclear. Perhaps it was just a natural talent of hers. Still, her creative combinations of exaggerated facial expression and complicated (and extremely suggestive) gestures were nothing short of art. The formulae were familiar - the duped lover, the brothel mishap, the misunderstood request - but she managed to improvise each story beat into something quite different, and quite a bit more vulgar. Unfortunately her audience was difficult to impress, although Oralech at least enjoyed flatly pointing out that the positions Erisa was mimicking were physically impossible. Volfred did his best not to look uncomfortable with most of the humor, and even managed a surprised laugh or two when a plot point turned out to be almost clever. Ti'zo, however, was utterly unimpressed and showed as much, yawning exaggeratedly into a wing while everyone else clapped politely. He squawked dismissively, brushing the lingering applause aside as if it was so many cobwebs. He gave a series of intense growls and chirps, the meaning of which was clear even to Erisa.

She wrinkled her nose and set her broad shoulders, cutting an imposing figure even as she took her seat once again. "I'll respect my elders when they earn it." Ti'zo was more than happy to accept the challenge, launching immediately into yet another tale, a seafaring epic regarding his war against the denizens of the deep.

The two traded tales and verbal jabs back and forth for some time as the night advanced around them. Their repertoires were seemingly bottomless, as was their determination, both of them perhaps overeager to pack a lifetime's worth of neglected Capriem traditions into a single evening. Stew was reheated, and passed around again as a gift to bolster the competitor's spirits. Erisa produced a flask of something questionable but strong, and was more than happy to keep it to herself when no one else expressed any interest in it. Eventually, however, it was clear her energy was beginning to flag; as she listened to Ti'zo's stories, her head occasionally nodded before jerking back upright. The imp, too, had long ago run out of interesting material and had turned mostly to play, listing things he had had for dinner three days ago, or the number of wheel mites he had caught during the week, knowing Erisa wouldn't understand. Volfred had long ago given up on translating, finding instead that the truest spirit of Capriem lay in the two exhausted storytellers talking right past one another.

Erisa was the first to relent, forced to cut off a story halfway due to a bout of coughing. "Ugh..." She tilted her head back in a vain attempt to relieve a growing headache. "Well, you get the point." She waved away the rest of what she had been planning to say. "This has been just grand, and I've got plenty more stories where those came from, believe me. But I think I'm gonna take your advice for once, doc."

"Oh, really," Oralech countered.

"I know, it must come as a shock, but I think I'd prefer to sleep through the rest of the hunter's pursuit." Now that she was no longer caught up in her performance, exhaustion had settled upon her, although the cause seemed more than merely physical. She picked her shawl up from where it had been discarded in the fury of her performances and wrapped it back around her shoulders, as if bundling this short-lived joy back into herself for safe-keeping. "Let me know who won in the morning." Ti'zo chirped a sincere goodnight to her back, and let her know he had enjoyed their little bout. Whether or not she understood, she acknowledged him with a wave, before turning and heading back into the blackwagon.

Her absence was almost tangible for a moment, as if a chill draft had blown through and left the fire hunched and cowering. But a moment later, the soft dance of Tariq's fingers along the strings of his lute had chased away any lingering concern. "Shall I play something now? A ballad, perhaps?"

"Play as you please. I am no storyteller; I think perhaps we shall simply pass the time in conversation. Unless, of course," Here Oralech paused, to glance at his companion. "Volfred has a story he would wish to share?"

The laugh that rumbled from his chest was more felt than heard. "I have a great number of stories I could share, if Ti'zo is finished." He glanced back at the imp, who had once again made himself comfortable in the folds of Tariq's cloak. "I assume you have told your fill for now?" The sleepy chirp he received in response was evidence enough that the late hour, the abundant food, and the exertion of telling so many stories had begun to be felt.

"Well, I suppose I should tell a few, then." Volfred closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, it was clear he had selected a tale or two from his mental catalogue. When he spoke it was with the measured ease one would expect from a long-time lecturer. Unfortunately that meant the tales he told also sounded a bit like lectures, but it was at least a change from the frenetic energy of Ti'zo and Erisa's tellings. Even a story about one of his narrow escapes from pursuing Commonwealth authorities was told with the gentle, subdued sense of humor that often comes from hindsight. They had not been wholly incompetent; he was just, by that point, quite practiced in eluding them, and their oversights seemed beyond foolish by comparison, even at times drawing a small laugh or two from Oralech. Ti'zo, however, was fast asleep before the second story had ended; and by the end of the fourth, Tariq was politely excusing himself as he bundled the snoring imp up in his cloak with vaguely unnatural care and carried him into the wagon.

Silence fell once again, as the air seemed to rush into the negative space left by their departure. The moon was high by this point, the night well-advanced but still many hours from dawn. In the downside, with the stars and the distant calls of howlers for company, it was easy to believe that eternal darkness could exist. But the fire was well-stoked and comforting, despite the deep shadows it cast. Their bowls were empty, but there was always more food in the pot. There were certainly worse places to feel as though time itself had stopped for a little while.

Volfred's roots had at some point twined through the soil in a leisurely manner as his hands worked at filling and lighting his pipe. He took a slow drag from it, and exhaled smoke and steam into the chilly air, an informal punctuation mark at the end of his telling. Perhaps sensing Oralech's gaze, he glanced sidelong, his eyes still alight with quiet humor. "You do yourself a disservice," he murmured. "I've heard plenty of your stories. You have quite a flair for the dramatic."

"I fear that you have heard all that I have to tell," Oralech said wryly. "And what remains besides would only dampen our spirits. Bloodborder tales have their proper time and place; Capriem in the Downside is neither."

"I hardly think anything can be less 'proper' than Erisa's tales." Volfred let out a smoky sigh, but the softness of his expression suggested that he found it all a bit more amusing now that he was not actively enduring it.

Oralech laughed, short and low. "You know very well what I meant."

"I do. Tales for another time, then, and by your leave."

The space between them was just a bit too close for polite indifference, as if the weight of what they shared had drawn them subtly nearer despite their conscious intentions, leaving them tense, their minds turned towards one another.

"Is something troubling you?"

Oralech was unsure for a moment if the words had been spoken to him aloud or not. "I could ask the same of you."

Volfred busied himself emptying and tucking away his pipe, and gave a soft huff of laughter. "I daresay you're already halfway to being a Reader yourself."

"This is not your first winter solstice spent in the Downside." Oralech pushed forward in his usual practical way, refusing to be sidetracked. "But it is the first time you have suggested we celebrate Capriem." His brow furrowed as he searched his own understanding, seeking motives and finding none satisfactory. He was forced to one conclusion, and it rang clear in his thoughts even before he turned his piercing gaze up at Volfred. _What do you know that I do not? What is about to happen?_

Volfred met that gaze steadily, and then looked up into the deep black of the sky, dotted with the still-burning fires of those who had passed. "The stars are nearly aligned."

The weight of those words was left to hang a little, before Oralech managed to respond. "Why did you not say as much earlier?"

"The calculations are complicated, moreso when one has never closely observed the stars' turning. I did not know, myself, until perhaps a week ago."

"I see." Little more needed to be said. Knowing that, it was clear enough what weighed on Volfred's mind, and what he had wished to bring about with his modest suggestion. On this longest, darkest night of the year, time would be held in place, drawn like a bowstring in the moment before the panic and noise and bloodshed of the chase begins.

Oralech gestured into the space that still gaped between them. "Come. Sit with me."

The shifting of Volfred's presence was felt as much as seen as he moved closer, abandoning his stool for the cold ground. Seated thus they were closer in height, though Oralech was still almost a full head shorter. A small, courteous space remained between their shoulders. As their ears adjusted to the silence that had rushed into the spaces left by their companions, they found that other, quieter sounds slipped in to keep them company. The fire crackled and hissed, and the wind sang high in the distant treetops. The stars wheeled past through the darkness, and even they seemed to creak a bit along their tracks in the heavens.

"If neither of us feels compelled to tell another story," Volfred finally began, tentatively. "Perhaps we could discuss that story which is the basis of all of this. Tariq graced us with quite an intriguing version of it, after all."

"You have a particular topic in mind, I imagine." This, at least, was easy. They had had many discussions like this, across all sorts of theory and experience. It sometimes got a bit arcane for Oralech's taste, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

"The character of Capriast. What little development they are given varies widely across tellings, so perhaps it is best to let their actions speak for them." Such thinking was to be expected from Volfred, although he seemed more distant than usual. "They saw the devastating failure of their eleven companions, the coldness of the Moon Stag's rage, and the certainty of everlasting darkness, and they pressed on when others would not. What does this tell us?"

"Mm." Oralech's fingers busied themselves plucking dried, withered grass from the earth, balling it up, and tossing it into the fire as he attempted to follow Volfred's train of thought. "They are senselessly stubborn, or perhaps simply a fool, to believe that pursuing the same path yet again would lead to success."

"And yet it did," and the way Volfred said it made it sound as if this surprised him as well. "What could it have been that secured their victory? It's true, some tellings make mention of traps and cunning, but they are few, and the traps themselves are said to have failed, thus it's unlikely that such tricks are meant to be the heart of the tale."

"Well, if it is the heart of the tale that you seek..." Oralech said, pausing to search back to memories of hearing this story in his childhood. What had he learned from it? Had it simply thrilled him with its account of daring deeds? "...Would it not be persistence, or belief in oneself?"

"An intriguing suggestion," Volfred murmured, encouraging. "Why do you say so?"

"Perhaps instead of wondering at how Capriast succeeded, we should ask why their companions failed." Oralech had learned a thing or two about navigating Volfred's impromptu seminars, and about finding the topic truly at their core. "The eleven were all Capriast's equals, and yet they turned back. They should not have been incapable of catching the Moon Stag. They may have simply been unlucky, but it is more likely that they believed themselves incapable. Or..."

"Or?" Volfred's voice had that mix of intensity and warmth that was unique to these discussions of theirs, and it set something fluttering behind Oralech's diaphragm. "What else?"

"It could also be said that they grew to fear change, and that which goes with it. They were unwilling to sacrifice, or fearful of retaliation."

"Well said." That tone, however, gave Oralech pause, and he found himself glancing over. Volfred's features were limned with firelight, his gaze peering somewhere beyond their humble campsite. "Rather than feeling they had nothing to lose, they were instead happy to accept a half-life spent in darkness if it meant they could hold on to what they had left."

Oralech chose his next words with care, weighing them each in turn before letting them fall. "There is little shame in fearing what the dawn may bring, after so long and deep a night. But, it seems to me that if the eleven had asked Capriast's aid sooner, then they could have quickly accomplished together what proved nigh impossible for any one of them alone."

The more profound quiet of the hours just after midnight had settled in at some point; even the Downside's nocturnal creatures were seeking their roosts. The fire was burning low, as if it, too, felt that it should be resting at such an hour.

"You're right, of course," Volfred finally conceded, a troubled relief playing across his face. "Though such plain logic rarely makes for satisfying narrative tension."

"Narrative tension be damned," Oralech grumbled. "They are a pack of fools, all of these ancient heroes."

It didn't quite earn a laugh, but a bit more of whatever was weighing on Volfred seemed to lift. He allowed himself the luxury of pressing just a bit closer, against Oralech's shoulder. "Is that your final conclusion, then?"

"It is indeed," Oralech said, with determined finality. "As capable and confident as one may be on one's own, there is always benefit and perspective to be gained from striving together."

Volfred hummed his agreement. "I should say so. The Rites teach us this, if nothing else."

There was still a tension to Volfred's posture and the way he held his hands, restless without his pipe. Wordlessly, Oralech offered his own hand between them. It was taken; his thumb began to rub absentminded circles against the smooth grain of Volfred's bark. At length, he brought himself to speak again, cutting with merciful precision into the heart of the matter. "I can offer naught but my own belief in our plan," he admitted. "I understand why that falls short of comfort, but I...fear there is little more to be done, at this time."

Volfred took a deep, deliberate breath, and let it out slowly. "It's just as you said: there can be no shame in fearing that which is naturally frightening. It's not as though we're unprepared, or without direction. And yet..."

His words trailed off, but Oralech understood just the same. Soon, very soon, things would begin to move quickly, and whether they succeeded or failed, everything that they had built up over the past two years would be forever changed. No amount of faith could make the initial step less chilling. It could only push the chill to the side long enough for the two of them to take another step, and another, until their goals either had come to pass, or had not.

It was almost guaranteed that they would be separated for many years; it was very possible that they would never see one another again. They had known this, of course, and accepted it with the mix of grimness and hope that was unique to serving a higher cause. But its immediacy was unexpected, like the breathless, paralyzing slip of a knife in normally steady hands. The deep darkness around them felt as if it was pressing down, pinning them, willing them simply to stay put and stop bleeding that had not even started rather than struggle ever forward.

"We have time yet," Oralech murmured, his soothing words riding on a deep current of intensity. "We shall strive together, and the future shall be as it is. It need not affect us now."

The last of the worry slipped from Volfred's frame, his fingers tightening minutely around Oralech's hand. "Together, shoulder to shoulder...although, perhaps a bit more literally than the Scribes intended," he added with a wry chuckle.

"It seems a satisfactory interpretation to me." Oralech did his best to mimic Volfred's most elitist academic tone, but was unable to entirely conceal the softness around the edges of his words.

Volfred gave his best pensive hum in response. "I suppose that's reason enough for me to accept it as well." He released Oralech's hand, if only to draw him closer. What warmth the waning fire could not provide instead radiated from where their sides were pressed together, where their hands had come to rest on each other's waists. The night was still as glass, with the deep chill customary to the earliest hours of the morning.

"Do you wish to wait up until the dawn?" Oralech spoke barely above a whisper, as if more force might send the still-distant first light scurrying back into hiding.

"The dawn will come whether we are here to watch for it or not," Volfred said after a moment, voice feather-soft despite the conviction in the gaze he fixed upon the stars. "With that in mind...perhaps we should get some rest. And a joyous Capriem morn to us all," he added, following his words with a soft press of his lips against Oralech's cheek.

What remained of the fire was dutifully banked and, as the sun cut golden through the longest, darkest night of the year, the Nightwings rested peacefully within the warmth and closeness of the blackwagon. They would have this moment, no matter what the future deigned to bring.


End file.
